


'Til It's Gone

by IreneADonovan



Category: Daredevil (Comics), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Being Concerned, Charles in a Wheelchair, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Hurt Erik, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other tags to be added later, Post-DOFP, erik is blind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-30 01:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10149968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Charles meets Erik in California about six months after D.C. They agree to renew their relationship, though they don't know they'll make it work. All seems well until an earthquake hits. Erik gets conked in the head and wakes up blind...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the initial summary for this story, I was a little flip about my reasons for writing this story, mainly because I wasn't quite ready to admit just how intensely personal this story really is. I've walked a path much like the one Erik is about to walk...

Charles never expected to hear from Erik after D.C. Fortunately, he was wrong.  


He wheeled himself into the kitchen one morning, about six months after D.C., to find an envelope lying on the table and a scowling Hank leaning against the counter, coffee in hand. “I'm pretty sure it's from Erik,” Hank said. “I found it by the door. He must have slipped it underneath.”  


Charles picked up the envelope, which has only his first name on it, written in Erik's precise script. The envelope itself was cheap, white, untraceable.  


The flap was only tucked in, not sealed, and Charles opened it with trepidation. Inside was an index card with three lines of the same clear script. An address at Lake Arrowhead in California, a date three days hence, and the sentences “We need to talk. Alone.”  


“Are you going to go?” Hank had come to read over his shoulder. He sipped at his coffee then dropped onto one of the chairs.  


Charles fingered the card. “I need to. I don't really want to, but I think I have to. There's too much unfinished between us.”  


Hank sighed, downed more coffee. “I don't like it, but I'll fly you there.”  


“Thank you.  


“I'll stay somewhere close. Be good to get away from the snow for a while.”  


Charles smiled. Hank. Always loyal. His protector. His guardian at the gate.  


*****  


The address led Hank and Charles to a cabin more than ten miles from the actual lake, though it was only with gentle prodding that Hank was willing to drive off and leave him and his suitcase.  


The path to the door was smooth and level, the door itself wide, easy for a wheelchair. The door was unlocked, and Charles pushed it open.  


The main room was open and airy. Several comfortable-looking couches and a television were grouped on the left side, while the right boasted a kitchenette flanked by a long wooden table. A short hallway off the rear wall led to what Charles presumed to be bedrooms and a bathroom.  


Erik wasn't here, not yet. Charles sensed no one else in the cabin, though of course Erik could have retrieved that damned helmet. He wheeled toward the hallway. “Erik?” he called. “Erik?”  


He entered the hallway, looked through the open doors. The bedrooms were simply furnished, but dominated by sumptuous beds and stone fireplaces; the bathroom, fully accessible. Erik had thought of everything, including the bottle of champagne chilling on one nightstand.  


All Charles could do now was wait. He wheeled back to the main room and over to one of the couches. His back was aching from the cross-country flight; he might as well get comfortable. He transferred himself to the couch, arranged his legs along the seat, then leaned back and settled his head on the plush armrest.  


He must have dozed, because the next time he was aware, the sunlight had dimmed, and Erik sat on the couch opposite him, watching, an almost predatory look on his face. “Welcome back,” he said.  


“Was I asleep long?”  


“I've been here about an hour.”  


“And you didn't wake me?”  


“I was enjoying watching you sleep. You looked so peaceful.” Erik rose, crossed the room, knelt beside the other couch. He brushed Charles' hair from his face, traced his cheekbone with a fingertip. “I've missed you, Charles.”  


_And I have missed you._ Charles thought the words but didn't speak them. “We can't just pick up where we left off, like nothing happened,”  


Erik sighed, sinking back on his heels. “I suppose we can't.”  


“But that's why you asked me here, isn't it?” Charles said quietly. “To see if we can find a way forward. And that is why I came.”  


Erik met his gaze, blue-grey eyes improbably filled with hope.  


Charles cupped Erik's jaw with one hand, brushed his thumb across Erik's lips. “I think we can.” He pulled Erik's head down, ghosted a kiss across those lips. “But first I think we need to get reacquainted.”  


Erik smiled softly, a rare and precious sight. “Your bed or mine.”  


“Surprise me.”  


“Always.” Erik kissed him then, attacking his mouth with raw need and barely-bridled passion. His tongue pushed its way past Charles' lips, insistent, demanding. Charles met him eagerly, burying his fingers in Erik's short gingery hair and holding him close.  


When they finally had to come up for air, Erik stared down at him, seemingly beyond words. Erik's mind was open to Charles, yet all the telepath could sense was Erik's wonder. “After all the bridges I've burned, how can you kiss me like that?” Erik asked.  


Charles smiled softly, a little sadly. “I never stopped loving you. One can only hate as deeply as I hated you when one has loved equally deeply.”  


“I hated you, too,” Erik admitted. “For giving up, for turning your back on our brothers and sisters, for leaving me to rot in that concrete tomb. But as much as I hated you, I hated myself more.” He brushed a lock of Charles' hair off his brow. “I took something precious, something beautiful, and I destroyed it. I destroyed us. I destroyed you.”  


“You didn't destroy me, Erik. I'm still here.” A wry smile. Maybe a little worse for wear, but still here.” Charles looped his arms around Erik's shoulders. “Now stop brooding and take me to bed.”  


Erik slipped one arm behind Charles' back, slid the other under his knees, brushed a tender kiss across his lips, then lifted him and carried him to the bedroom.  


The champagne was warm by the time either of them thought of it again.  


*****  


They spent two blissful days reacquainting themselves with each other, body, mind, and spirit. Charles learned Erik had a stellar singing voice, waking one morning to hear him singing in the shower. Erik learned Charles loved the sound of an afternoon rain but hated dealing with the mud it left behind. And each learned to please the other in the bedroom.  


They remained deeply divided on many things, would probably always remain so, and they argued deep into the night over drinks and chess, but then managed to table those differences and love deeper into the night.  


Neither knew where this thing between them was headed or knew how they could possibly make it work once they left the shelter of these walls. What both knew, however, was that this time they were both going to g-ddamned try.  


On their third night together, they'd drifted off somewhere past midnight, Charles' head pillowed on Erik's chest, Erik's arm curled loosely around Charles' shoulders.  


Charles was jolted awake somewhere before dawn to _ConfusionTerrorPanic_ and a shaking bed. He shot a glance at Erik, wondering if the other man was having a nightmare, but he was still sleeping serenely at Charles' side.  


The voices continued shrieking and the bed continued shaking. No, not the bed, the entire room was shaking. Earthquake, Charles realized. He grabbed Erik's shoulder, projecting an urgent _Wake up!_  


Erik's eyes blinked open, registering a moment of bafflement that shifted to alarm just before he threw himself over Charles.  
Charles let out an _oof_ as Erik squashed his ribs, and he was about to protest that he didn't need protecting when he saw the stone fireplace beginning to crumble.  


“Not enough metal in the stone,” Erik apologized as chunks of rock began to rain down around them.  


“Not your fault.” He wrapped his arms around Erik, holding him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. He felt a surge of love from Erik, cut off abruptly as a hunk of rock slammed into the back of Erik's skull.  


“Erik!” Charles screamed his name, reached out to touch his mind, to make sure he still lived.  


Darkness. Pain. Confusion. But after worrying minutes, a clear thought. _Charles._  


_Yes._ “I'm here, love.” The shaking had stopped, at least for now.  


“What happened?”  


“Earthquake.”  


“Why does my head hurt?”  


“Because you let a bloody boulder bounce off the back of your skull.”  


Erik raised his hand to the back of his head, winced. “Good thing I have a hard head.”  


Indeed. “We should get out of here,” Charles said. “There'll be aftershocks, and this place clearly isn't safe. Can you make it?”  


His hand still to his head, Erik rolled off of Charles and cautiously sat up. He swayed a little, like he might pass out, but he stayed upright. “I think so,” he said. His pale eyes shone silver in the wan moonlight as he glanced about. “How long until dawn? Or is the power out? It seems awfully dark yet.”  


Charles frowned. It didn't seem that dark to him, especially with the moonlight seeping through the hole left by the collapsed fireplace. “A few hours,” he said, glancing about, noting the still display – three-thirty am -- on the bedside clock. “The power does appear to be out, but I think I saw a flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers.”  


Erik concentrated, his eyes half-closing, and after a few moments, the flash came floating into the room to land in Erik's hand. He thumbed the switch and the light came on, then he frowned. He tried the switch several more times, the light blinking off and on, off and on.  


“Erik?”  


Erik turned his face toward Charles, looking alarmed. “I can't see it, Charles.”  


“What?”  


“I know it's on,” he said. “I can feel the heat of the bulb, feel the electricity making the metal hum, but I can't see the light.” Erik's voice remained level, but Charles could sense the panic running just beneath the surface.  


Charles took Erik's hand. “We need to get you out of here, get you to a hospital.”  


“They'll just arrest me.”  


“Then we need to get you to Hank.”  


“Hank?”  


“He knows more about medicine than most doctors, and he won't turn you in, not if I ask him not to.”  


“All right.”  


Charles picked up the bedside phone, but as he had feared, it was dead. He replaced it with a sigh.  


“Phones are out?”  


“Yes. I'm sure Hank will be on his way to us anyway, but we really can't stay in here.” As if to emphasize his point, a soft tremor shook them.  


His chair was mercifully untouched, just some chips of stone on the seat, which he swept aside before transferring himself over. His side of the room, nearer the door, was fairly clear of debris, and he easily accessed the dresser and retrieved clothes for the both of them.  


Erik sat utterly still on the edge of the bed, eyes wide and staring, jaw clenched.  


A twisted maze of stone lay between Charles and Erik, impossible to navigate, so Charles returned to his side of the bed. “I need you to turn around, Erik. I have your clothes, but I can't get to you.”  


Erik scooted himself backward across the bed until one of his hands brushed the far edge, then he pivoted around to face Charles.  


Charles pressed a stack of clothes into Erik's hands. “Jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, underwear,” he identified. Erik fumbled a bit but began dressing, and Charles was able to concentrate on getting into his own clothes.  


The process took longer than he liked, given the precariousness of their situation, but there was no help for it. Erik was ready first, even summoning his sneakers to him by their metal eyelets, but eventually Charles was finishing buttoning his shirt.  


“Let me have the flashlight. I'll probably need it,” Charles said as he buttoned his cuffs.  
Erik extended a hand, and the flashlight zoomed into it. He then reached toward Charles, a little uncertain.  


Charles caught Erik's hand in both of his. He took the flashlight with his right and tucked it beside his leg, and with his left, he brought Erik's hand to his lips, then to his heart. “We'll get through this,” he promised. “We'll get you to Hank, and he'll figure out what's wrong.”  


“And if he can”t?” Erik's face might as well have been set in stone, blank and bleak.  


“We'll cross that bridge if we come to it.” Charles knew better than most that some damage didn't heal, but now was not the time to dwell on that. He guided Erik's hand to one of his chair-handles. “Hang on to these,” he said. “Don't push. Just follow my lead.”  


Erik nodded, winced, then rose to his feet.  


Charles wheeled into the main room, which was largely undamaged. Maybe they could just stay here. Then he saw the cracks in the kitchen wall, and he continued to the door. He handed Erik his jacket, then pulled on his own. This might be California, but the winter nights were still brisk enough for a jacket, especially in the mountains.  


Charles was starting to pull the door open when Erik said, “Wait. I remember seeing a radio. Maybe we can find some sort of emergency broadcast.” He extended a hand, and moments later a pocket-sized radio zoomed into it.  


“Good thinking,” Charles said, “but let's get out of here before we try it.”  


Erik tucked the radio into his jacket pocket and followed Charles out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story before I had the idea for Lost in Shadow and Silence, and for a while I wasn't sure I'd continue this. I was worried it was too much of the same territory, and maybe it is, but the bottom line is it's still a story I want to tell...

The pre-dawn air was crisp and dry. Charles' breath coalesced into foggy mist, and he spared a brief, rueful thought for his gloves, forgotten on the dresser.

He led Erik to a spot maybe twenty feet from the cabin and paused. “Let me see that radio.”

Erik passed it over wordlessly.

Charles adjusted the volume then slowly spun the tuning dial. He found mostly static, with just a few stations playing music. No news or disaster alerts yet. He switched it off with a sigh and slipped it in a jacket pocket. “We'll check again in a bit.”

Erik said nothing. 

Charles reached back, found his love's hand and covered it with his own. “We'll get through this.”

Erik still said nothing.

Charles could feel how shaky and sick Erik felt. “Why don't you have a seat in your car. I want to see if I can reach Hank.”

It was a testament to how bad Erik felt that he didn't argue. Charles led him over to the rear passenger door, started to guide his hand toward the door handle.

“I've got this,” Erik said stiffly, shaking free of Charles' grasp. He extended his hand, stopping a couple of inches above the car's surface, and Charles realized Erik was reading the metal.

The door swung open, and Erik stepped sideways, his hand still ghosting over the metal, until he came to the opening. His hand reached down, found the seat, and he lowered himself gingerly onto it.

Charles closed his eyes, was instantly assaulted by what must have been every mind within thirty miles, most still projecting raw fear. Slowly he tuned them out, searching for the quick but ordered thoughts he knew so well. There. _Hank?_

_Charles. Thank God you're okay. You are okay, aren't you?_

_I'm fine. Erik's not. He needs medical attention._

_I'll be glad to drop him at the nearest hospital. He can see a doctor in jail._

_No, Hank. He's coming with us. That's final._

_Fine. Just don't expect me to welcome him with open arms._

_All I ask is you be civil when you treat him. How soon can you get here?_

_I don't know. Not all of the roads are passable. Downed trees, downed power lines. How bad off is he?_

_He has a head injury. He's conscious and coherent, but he's blind._

_Make sure he stays conscious. I'll be there as soon as I can._

Charles withdrew and opened his eyes. Erik sat utterly still, hands clenched in his lap, pale eyes wide and staring. “Erik?”

Erik's head lifted a fraction.

“Hank's on his way. He says some of the roads are blocked, but he'll be here as soon as he can.” Charles maneuvered in as close as he could and set his hand on Erik's knee. “Just hang on. If anyone can figure this out, it's Hank.” He knew he'd said this before, but Erik needed the reassurance.

“And if he can't? If my sight doesn't come back?”

“Then we'll figure it out from there.” Charles squeezed Erik's knee. ”The two of us. Together.”

The barest hint of a smile flickered on Erik's lips. 

**~xXx ~**

Hank got to them around sunrise. Erik had scarcely spoken the entire time, had just sat, statue-still, his hand wrapped tightly around Charles', his grey-blue eyes wide and empty.

Hank approached cautiously, as if he still regarded Erik as a threat. “Erik? Can I take a look at you?”

“Yes.” Erik's hand tightened still more around Charles'.

Hank took the flash from Charles, squeezed in by Erik, tilted his head up with a hand under his chin, shone the light into each of Erik's eyes in turn. “Your pupils are reacting to the light,” he observed.

“But I can't see it,” Erik protested just as Charles asked, “What does that mean?”

“It helps confirm that the problem was caused by the blow to the head. I'll need to consult some medical texts, though.”

“We need to get him back to Westchester,” Charles said.

Hank sighed. “Taking him up in a plane with a head injury isn't wise, but I don't see an alternative. You'll just have to keep a close eye on him.”

Wordlessly, Erik rose to his feet, still holding tight to Charles' hand. His other hand closed on one of the wheelchair handles with only a slight fumble and he said, “Let's go.”

Charles led him to Hank's rental car. Erik placed his hand on the frame and closed his eyes, clearly taking solace in the steel. After a minute, his hand skimmed over its surface until he found the door handle. He swung it open, ran his hand over the seat and back, mapping the contours, then eased himself in and pulled the door shut.

Charles opened the front passenger door and swung himself onto the seat. Hank stowed the wheelchair in the trunk, and then they were off down the hard-packed dirt of the road.

Erik remained silent in the back seat on the journey to the little regional airport, a journey that took thrice as long as the one in the opposite direction had taken. Charles spoke quietly with Hank, casting frequent anxious glances over his shoulder. Hank, bless him, didn't comment on that, though his grip on the steering wheel tightened every time

All flights in and out of the airport had been suspended, but a little judicious use of psionics had them cleared for takeoff. Hank carried Charles up the stairs and into the plane. He was about to place him in his usual seat when Charles stopped him. “Put me on the bench seat so I can sit with Erik.”

Hank scowled.

“You said I need to keep an eye on him.”

Hank sighed, then he turned to go get Erik.

Charles could feel the fear rolling off of Erik, see his tightly-wound muscles and clenched jaw as Hank led him into the plane's cabin. Hank seemed to have softened his stance just a little as he guided Erik over to Charles, seeming almost gentle as he showed him where to sit.

Erik sank onto the bench seat beside Charles, relief mixing with the fear. Charles wrapped an arm around his shoulders, held him close.

Erik melted against Charles, the tension in his muscles ebbing away. He rested his cheek against the side of Charles' head, nuzzling into his hair. “Mmm, you feel so good.” He sighed deeply. “Hold me. Just hold me.

Charles held him, held him until the tears began to flow. Erik sobbed almost silently at first but grew steadily louder. His breaths came in shuddering gasps, his body shaking. “G_d, Charles, what am I going to do?”

Charles said nothing, just held Erik tighter. He knew all too well the shock of this kind of loss, the memories still vivid even after almost twelve years. Lying on the beach, realizing the lower half of his body had gone numb. A hospital in Miami, a doctor standing at his bedside, the grim prognosis. Many, many months afterward, learning to deal with his altered body.

Erik's sobs gradually subsided, and he curled up beside Charles. They remained that way for the remainder of the flight.

**~xXx~**

Erik clung tightly to Hank as they descended the stairs. The world before his eyes remained obstinately dark and empty, and each step felt like stepping off into nothingness. Then combine that with the sickening throb in his head that reverberated to his bones with every jolting step.

Erik wasn't sure he would pass out or throw up first. He just wished his body would get it over with

But he remained both conscious and in possession of his stomach contents as Hank led him to Charles' waiting wheelchair. Erik set his hand on it, the low thrum of the metal soothing his adrenaline-crazed nerves.

Hank left him there, returned a few minutes later with Charles. They made their way to Charles' car, and Erik again folded himself into the back seat.

Hank drove a little faster than Erik's throbbing head appreciated, but it meant they arrived at the mansion in short order. 

Erik was thinking only of a comfortable mattress and a soft pillow to support his pounding head, but Hank and Charles bundled him off to the basement and Hank's labs. The bed wasn't too bad, but the endless tests sucked.

“I don't think you're in any immediate danger,” Hank finally declared. “Your vision loss appears to be the result of swelling from the head injury. You've got a hairline skull fracture.”

“Will his vision return?” Charles asked.

“I don't know,” Hank admitted. “I need to look through a couple of textbooks to better understand the prognosis first.”

_Typical scientific double-talk,_ Erik scoffed to himself. “Can you leave me alone now?” he asked.

“We'll need to monitor you closely,” Hank said.

Erik had had too much of being poked and prodded, and it was reminding him far too much of Shaw. All the metal in the room began to shake.

“But you can rest upstairs,” Charles said quickly.

Hank huffed, the Beast in him showing just a bit.

Charles led him back to the elevator, then upstairs and down several corridors. They passed through two doorways, then Charles came to a halt. “Your bladder will thank you if you empty it before you lie down. The toilet is ahead and to the left. The sink's on the opposite wall. Do you have it from here?”

“Yes.” He'd manage. He had to.

“I'll wait outside then.” 

Erik stepped around Charles, one arm outstretched, and walked forward a few steps until his hand found the wall. He turned left, edged forward until his knee found the toilet. With a little fumbling, he lifted the lid, then he opened his jeans, aimed as best he could, was rewarded with the sound of urine hitting water.

Afterward, he followed the wall to the sink, washed his hands, splashed his face, turned and followed the other wall to the doorway.

“I'm here, love. Walk toward my voice; there's nothing in front of you.”

Erik moved forward cautiously until Charles told him to stop. “The bed is about three steps to your right. Go ahead and lie down. I'll be back in a few minutes. Got to take my own advice.”

The bathroom. Got it. He listened to Charles wheel away, turned and located the bed, pulled the covers back and sank gratefully onto the mattress.

He dozed fitfully until he felt the mattress dip. “Charles?” he asked drowsily.

“Of course, my love.” He felt Charles arrange himself on the bed, then Charles' warm and possessive arm draped itself over his chest.

That was the last he remembered for quite a while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik wakes up at the mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating on this. Erik needed a blow job. ;-D
> 
> Writer lives for feedback!

Erik woke slowly, feeling sluggish and disoriented. He was in an unfamiliar bed, albeit a comfortable one, with no idea how he'd gotten there. An arm was draped across his chest, and a warm body was snuggled up to his side.

He opened his eyes to unrelieved darkness. Still the middle of the night, then. He turned his head to try to look around and discovered it hurt like a son of a bitch, the pain ricocheting through his skull. Had he been drinking?

He reclosed his eyes, waiting for the pain to dampen back down. His hand, the one not pinned by his unidentified bedmate, went to the arm across his chest, examined its contours.

It was smaller than his own, but unquestionably masculine. The hand was square-palmed, with fingers that were a little broad. The forearm was all lean muscle that spoke of a carefully leashed strength. The skin was satiny-smooth and dusted with fine hair.

He was about to move on to the upper arm when the person beside him mumbled something. Mumbled something in a familiar voice, a voice sweet as honey, polished as silk, seductive as sin.

Charles.

This had to be a dream. Charles would never let him within a hundred yards, let alone into his bed.

He turned his head cautiously, opened his eyes again when the world stopped spinning. Nothing. Just darkness.

He eased himself onto his side, eliciting fierce protests from his head and milder protests from Charles. And it was definitely Charles.

His hand found the silken mass of Charles' hair, thick and heavy and tumbling to his shoulders. Shoulders that were all lean muscle and smooth skin. Erik let his hand drift downward along Charles' back, feeling the smooth columns of muscle to either side of his spine.

And then he felt the corded ridge of scar tissue and knew this was no dream. In his dreams, Charles had never been shot, had no scars, wasn't paralyzed. His hands slid further down, felt the atrophied muscles of Charles' ass and thigh.

What had happened and how had he gotten here? And where was here, anyway? He opened his eyes wide, but the darkness remained impenetrable. He reached carefully across Charles' body, found the edge of a nightstand, then found a lamp and switched it on.

It made no difference.

Memory flooded back. California, Charles, the earthquake, waking up blind. 

And now waking up blind again.

Charles mumbled something incomprehensible and burrowed his face into Erik's chest. Erik wrapped his arm around Charles, held him close, brushed a kiss across the top of his head. The only thing that made any of this less terrifying was having Charles beside him.

Charles made little sounds of contentment as he cuddled against Erik. Erik buried his face in Charles' hair, drinking in the herbal scent of his shampoo, then closed his useless eyes, warding out the world.

He must have slept again because the next thing he knew, Charles was shifting restlessly in his arms. “Erik. Erik. I need to get up.”

Erik so did not want to pull himself the rest of the way back toward consciousness, toward the grim reality waiting when he opened his eyes, yet he knew that when Charles said he needed to get up, he really did mean he needed to, that there were certain routines he ignored only at the peril of his own health. Routines necessitated by Erik's casual negligence all those years ago.

Erik's hand threaded its way into Charles' hair and drew his head toward Erik's. His lips found Charles', just barely off-target, and gave him a gentle kiss.

Charles deepened the kiss before finally pulling away. “I really do need to get up,” he said in a voice tinged with regret.

“I know,” Erik said. “Do what you need to.” He held Charles close for another moment, then loosed him and rolled carefully away, trying not to jostle his aching head.

The mattress shifted and dipped as Charles pushed himself upright then dragged himself into his wheelchair.

After Charles left, Erik eased himself upright. His head swam a bit, but not too bad. He'd had worse concussions, though certainly never one that had left him blind. He stared into the void -- it wasn't really precisely darkness -- searching for some glimmer of something, of anything. But there was nothing.

His hand went to the back of his head, explored the gash there, far smaller than he'd imagined. He doubted he even needed stitches.

Charles returned after a while. “Do you need a turn in there?”

“Yeah. And I'd just about kill for a shower.” Though he had no idea how he could manage that.

“All right. I think we can do that, and without the need for bloodshed. Come on.”

Erik stood slowly, reached for Charles. Charles took his hand, held it lightly. “Try something for me. Read the metal in the room, the wiring, the pipes, see if you can use it to help know where you are.”

Erik smiled softly. “That's brilliant.”

“You gave me the idea, yesterday when you were reading the metal in the car.”

“It's still brilliant.” He concentrated on the metals in the room. Charles' chair shone brightest with lovely ferrous metals, its outline not clear in the way it would be to his eyes yet clear nonetheless. As he let his metal-sense expand outward, he could feel the copper wiring, the iron pipes, the alloys in the ductwork, the screws in the furniture.

“You're grinning like a madman. It must be working.”

“Yes. It's not at all the same as seeing, but I think I could learn to use it to get around, if I have to.”

“Do you want to test it out? At least to the bathroom and back?”

Erik swallowed. “All right.” He squeezed Charles' hand, turned until he judged he was facing the bathroom door.

“Good so far,” Charles said, kissing his fingertips before turning loose his hand. “I'll be here if you need me.”

Erik took a deep breath and stepped forward, hands extended. He made his way, trying not to grope too obviously, feeling a jolt of satisfaction and relief when his hand brushed the door jamb.

He found the toilet, made use of it, then began exploring the tub area. Detachable shower head, more than the usual array of controls, bar soap and shampoo that smelled like Charles' hair on a built-in shelf with metal trim, Charles' transfer bench at the far end.

Erik figured out how to make the shower work, then stripped off his clothes, setting them carefully on the counter. Showering itself was easy, his hands knowing what to do, the only trick keeping track of the soap when he set it down.

It was only after he stepped out of the tub that he realized he had neither a towel nor clothes. “Charles?” he called.

“There's a towel rack on the same wall as the sink, and I got you a set of sweats from Hank.”

“Do you know everything I'm going to ask?” It was eerie and kind of irritating, but a little cute.

“Hardly. I don't know what you want for breakfast, for example.”

“Eggs and toast, if that's an option.”

“Probably.”

Erik found the towel, wrapped it around his waist, retraced his steps into Charles' bedroom.

He felt a quick surge of lust from Charles that was just as quickly squelched. _Sorry. I'm sure that's the last thing you want to deal with now._

Erik focused on the metal of the wheelchair and stalked over to it. “You'd be wrong,” he declared as his hands sought Charles.

Charles' bare arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. Charles' beard brushed along his belly, rough and silky at once, sending little jolts of arousal shivering along his nerve endings to his cock, stirring it to life.

“For me?” Charles breath was warm on his skin, heating his cock even more. Charles' hands found the twist of fabric that held his towel in place and tugged it free, then those hands gripped his hips as Charles took Erik's cock into his mouth.

Erik's knees threatened to buckle, but Charles steadied him as that talented mouth relentlessly sucked him off. He knew he wouldn't last long, injured, weary, defenses down, and indeed he came almost embarrassingly quickly.

Charles didn't seem to mind, though. He wiped Erik off with the damp bath towel, pressed a kiss to the skin just above his navel.

Erik sank to his knees before Charles, orienting himself with a series of quick touches. Knee. Thigh. Waist. He both heard and felt Charles' indrawn breath as his fingers reached territory the other man could still feel. Erik lingered there, hands pressed to Charles' smooth skin, one thumb tracing along the bottom of his ribcage.

Charles hands went to the sides of Erik's head, urged him up and forward for a gentle kiss. He could taste himself on Charles' lips, overlaid on the unique flavor of Charles himself.

His hands roamed upward over the ridges of Charles' ribs, the solidity of his pecs, the slight peaks of his nipples. His scraped his thumbnails over Charles' nipples, was rewarded with a shudder and a deepening of their kiss, Charles' tongue slipping past his lips to twine with his own. Their tongues duelled, parry and thrust, until they were forced to pull apart, gasping for breath.

Erik nipped his way from the point of Charles' shoulder up the side of his neck to his ear, licked the curve of his ear, then nibbled and sucked the lobe.

Charles nearly came on the spot.

While Erik continued to nip and lick and nuzzle Charles' ear, his fingers found their way back to Charles' nipples, pinching and scratching them lightly. 

This time Charles did come with an exultant shout, his back arching, before he slumped bonelessly against Erik.

Erik clung to him, face buried in that mop of silky hair. Charles, his love, his lifeline, his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to have been a lot of other stuff in this chapter, but the boys were horny. Ah well, it'll wait for chapter four...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I've been wrapped up in Not All of Wisdom Brings Joy, but I haven't abandoned my other WIPs...

Charles let Erik cling to him for a long time, head pillowed on his lap, forearms bracketing his thighs. The only part of his lover's embrace he could actually feel was the still-damp hair that brushed his belly, but that wasn't the point. Erik needed closeness, needed reassurance, and Charles would gladly give him that.

He caressed Erik's shoulders and neck, murmured affectionate words, projected warmth and love, and above all, just let Erik hold him.

He carded his fingers through the other man's hair, which was threatening to dry into unruly curls, instead of its usual disciplined style. The wound at the back of his head was short and shallow, such a small thing to have caused such damage. He ignored the twinge in his back that sought to remind him of another devastatingly small wound.

After a while, Erik straightened up and sat back on his heels, giving Charles a splendid view of that sculpted chest, those solid abs, that lovely cock. “Is there an agenda for today?”

“Yes. Hank's going into the city to check some medical references, and I need to call my lawyer.”

“Trying to get me pardoned?” Erik asked with wry humor.

“Matt's good, but he's not that good. No, I was going to call him because I think he can help you another way. Matt's blind, and a mutant.” It didn't matter that his mutation was radiation-induced rather than inborn.

Erik's fists clenched. “So he can teach me to be the better blind man?” Wry was edging into bitter.

“Only if you want to be,” Charles answered quietly. “Even if this doesn't turn out to be permanent, he can still teach you a few things to make life easier in the meantime.”

Erik was quiet for a long moment. “All right.” He rose slowly, wincing, one hand going to the back of his head. “Where did you say my clothes were?”

“Hank's clothes,” Charles corrected automatically. “We'll have to take you shopping later. And the clothes are on the bed.”

Erik concentrated, brow furrowed, then stepped cautiously around Charles' chair, his fingers reaching out to brush the armrest. He continued forward until his knee bumped the side of the bed. He reached down, his fingers skimming the surface, moving outward like ripples on a pond, until they came to the well-worn sweats and closed on them.

He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and down his torso, sat and pulled the pants on over his feet, then rose again to pull them up over his hips. Charles sighed inwardly as Erik's body disappeared under the soft, baggy fabric, though it was probably for the best. They really did have things to do today. With a sigh he began pulling on his own clothes.

He led Erik down to the kitchen and to a seat at the table. “You said eggs and toast, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Three eggs over easy coming up.” He got the pan heating, retrieved the eggs and butter from the refrigerator, found the bread on the counter. “Rye all right?”

“Yes.”

Charles dropped the bread into the toaster, cracked the eggs into a bowl and sprinkled them with salt and pepper. Once he figured the toast was mostly-done, he poured the eggs into the pan, then he flipped them when the toast popped up and dished them out once he'd buttered the toast.

He set the plate before Erik, along with a cup of the coffee Hank had made for himself earlier. He took Erik's hand, guided it to the edge of the plate, the toast, then the handle of the mug. But Erik just continued to sit motionless. “How do I do this?” Erik asked, a despairing note in his voice. “How do I eat this without making a mess all over.”

Charles thought for a moment. “Your hands probably have a pretty good idea of what to do. Maybe if you used a piece of the toast to help guide the egg onto the spoon.

Erik looked a little dubious, but summoned his spoon to his hand and traced the edge of the plate until he located the toast. He picked up a half-slice and explored the plate with it, finding the eggs, then gingerly attacking the eggs with the spoon. It took a couple of tries, but he figured a way that got the eggs reliably on the spoon, missing only a couple of times more.

Hank had already taken off for the city; he'd left a note taped to the refrigerator, next to the shopping list that no longer consisted only of copious quantities of scotch. He'd hoped to catch Hank before he left, ask him to make a stop on the way back. But maybe it was better talk with Matt first.

He ate his own eggs quickly, then led Erik to his study while he made the call.

Karen, Nelson and Murdock's secretary, picked up, and after an exchange of pleasantries, she put Charles through to Matt.

“Hey, Charles, what can I do for you?”

“I've got a friend, a mutant who needs to keep a low profile, who just lost his sight.”

“Is it permanent?” He could hear the concern in Matt's voice.

'We don't know yet. I was hoping you'd have time to give him a few pointers to get him through until we know his prognosis.”

“I've got the afternoon free,” Matt answered. “I could probably be up there around two.”

“Plan on staying for dinner.”

They said their goodbyes and Charles disconnected.

“So now what?” Erik asked.

Charles thought a moment, came up with something perfect, if it was still where it belonged. “Come with me,” he said.

He led Erik up to an unused section of the third floor, down a dusty corridor, and into a room that was smaller than he remembered. All of the furnishings were covered with cloth, yellowed by age and thick with dust.

Charles hadn't been up here in decades, yet it took him only moments to find what he sought. He took Erik's hand, held it over the dusty cloth, Erik's fingertips just brushing the fabric. “What's this?”

Erik frowned in concentration, then he grinned in recognition. “A chess set. The pieces are silver and copper; the squares, cast iron and aluminum.”

“Care to play?”

“Of course.”

“Then help me get this stuff uncovered.”

Together they peeled back the coverings on the chess set and a chair, and though they tried to be careful, the dust made them choke. Erik re-oriented the chair and the chess set, making room for Charles' chair, and they settled in to play.

Charles won the first game, just barely, then Erik took the second fairly decisively and the third by a hair. Then they took a break for lunch, sandwiches, and played one more game before it was time for Matt to arrive.

**~xXx~**

Erik was prepared to dislike Matt Murdock. He disliked lawyers on principle, and he disliked needing help even more. But for Charles' sake, he'd try not to strangle the guy.

Matt arrived alone, which did impress Erik, though he hated to admit it. At this point, the idea of trying to find his way anywhere while still blind was downright terrifying.

Matt walked without hesitation, without fear. Erik heard the soft tapping of a cane, a rhythmic counterpoint to Matt's brisk footsteps.

“Erik, this is Matt Murdock. Matt, Erik Lehnsherr,” Charles announced.

Automatically Erik stuck out his hand.

Matt found it with barely a fumble. His handshake was firm but not overpowering.

“Are you sure you're blind?” Erik blurted.

Matt chuckled. “For twenty years, since I was a kid.”

“I don't know if I can do this,” Erik said quietly.

“What's the alternative?” Matt asked, equally quietly.  
“Sit in your room and feel sorry for yourself for the rest of your life? Because this could be permanent. I hope it's not, but it could be.”

Put that way, he didn't have much choice. “Okay,” he said. “Teach me.”

“Charles? Would you hang onto this for a while?”

“Of course.”

Erik wanted to growl in frustration. It was all the little details like this, things he'd never even thought about, just everyday bits of information that were lost to him now. He could sense the metal, slender rods maybe fifteen inches long, an aluminum alloy, but he wasn't sure what they were meant to be.

Matt guided Erik's hand to his elbow. “Lesson number one: if someone is going to lead you, it's best to take their elbow. Putting a hand on their shoulder's second best. But don't let them drag you by the hand.” Matt wrapped Erik's fingers around his arm just above the elbow. “Follow me.”

They were off along the corridors of the mansion at what felt like dizzying speed. Erik flinched, sure he would crash into something. “Lesson 1a: trust. The person guiding you is not going to deliberately run you into anything.” He stopped abruptly, forcing Erik to stop short. “Lesson 1b: pay attention.”

Matt was silent for a moment. “Close your eyes.”

“Why? It's not like it makes a difference.”

“It does to your brain. You won't be fighting to see where you're going. It makes it easier to trust your guide, especially at first.”

Matt led Erik up and down the corridors of the mansion until he was able to relax and trust Matt's guidance.

“Time for lesson two,” Matt announced. “Charles, could you let Erik have one of the items in the bag?”

Charles pressed a slender tube of aluminum into his hands. Matt's hands then covered his own and showed him where to twist it to turn it to a long, thin cane.

Erik shook his head, wanting to drop the cane, scramble as far away from it as he could. “No,” he protested. “I can't. I don't want to look blind.”

“News flash -- you _are_ blind. And would you rather be the blind man who fumbles along lost and helpless? Or would you rather be the one who knows what he's doing and where he's going and how to get there?”

Point taken. “So how do I use this?”

“I'll show you some of the basics today. It's not that hard -- it mostly takes practice. Then later we can get into the nuances and into how to fight with it.”

“Fight?” Erik couldn't even imagine fighting when he couldn't see.

“Yes. Fight. But first things first.” Matt took Erik's hand, showed him how to wrap his hand around the grip, guided the tip forward. “Just swing it back and forth between my feet, get a feel for the distance. You want the cane to swing in an arc just a hair wider than your shoulders.”

Erik practiced wordlessly, and by the end of Matt's lesson, he was beginning to feel a little less lost.

A little.


	5. Chapter 5

Charles followed Matt and Erik through the corridors of the mansion, observing as Matt taught Erik the basics of how to use a white cane.

It was both simpler and more complicated than he would have thought, but Matt explained everything in clear terms, demonstrating with his hands over Erik's.

Erik, for his part, trailed along quietly, trying to absorb as much as he could, no matter how much he wanted to just throw down the cane and run.

“The cane is more than an extension of your arm,” Matt explained. “You'll also get a lot of information about the terrain ahead by listening to the sounds the cane tip makes. It's not so obvious on carpet. Charles, is there any place here with tile floors or wood?”

“Wood in the ballroom. Tile in the kitchen and what used to be the servants' quarters.”

“Which is closest?”

“The ballroom.” Charles led the way through the maze of corridors. Matt followed, a couple of steps behind, tracking the soft swish of Charles' wheels on the carpet. Erik clung tightly to Matt's elbow, cane clutched tightly in his free hand.

The ballroom lay behind a massive set of double doors. The latch was stiff from disuse, as were the hinges, and Charles had to fight to drag one side open.

The hazy winter sun through the dust-rimed windows lent ghostly shadows to the grand room. The floors were polished hardwood, dark-finished -- something obscure and expensive he thought he'd once known the name of, some type of teak, maybe. Whatever it was, his wheels glided across it like polished glass.

Matt halted just inside the doorway, made a soft clicking sound with his tongue, cocked his head to listen. “This is great,” he said. “The floor is perfect, and this is a really good space for listening for echoes.”

Erik looked much less enthused.

“I want you to walk across the room,” Matt said. “Just like I showed you, nice and easy.” He peeled Erik's fingers from his arm.

Erik stood frozen for a good minute, then he took a deep breath and stepped forward, cane sweeping in a wide arc.

Matt tilted his head, listening, tracking Erik's progress. “Don't swing the cane quite so wide,” he directed. He continued to call suggestions and encouragement as Erik walked slowly forward. Erik had a tendency to drift right, and sometimes when Matt nudged him back to true, sometimes he overcompensated and veered left.

He made it about halfway across the ballroom before sinking to his knees and pitching the cane away. “I can't do this,” he declared.

Charles started to wheel forward, but Matt held up a hand, halting him. “You can,” Matt said. “I know it feels overwhelming right now, but you can learn this.”

“Maybe I won't need to,” Erik said, though his tone was more hope than conviction. “My vision might come back.”

“It might,” Matt conceded, “but what if it doesn't? And even if it does, it could take a while. What are you going to do in the meantime? Sit like a lump and feel sorry for yourself?”

Erik shook his head. “No.”

Matt went to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “I think that's enough for today. Now get your cane -- it's about ten feet to your right -- and we'll head down to the kitchen. I'm cooking dinner.”

**~xXx~**

Erik felt useless, helpless, nearly as helpless as he'd felt the day his nascent powers had failed him and he'd had to watch his mother die.

Only this time it was his eyes that had failed him. He stared into the unrelieved void in front of him as if sheer will could bring back his vision and listened to Matt Murdock making dinner.

The man worked with an efficient surety Erik doubted he'd ever master should the worst happen. Though Matt had said he'd been blind twenty years.

He found he could track Matt through the tools in his hands and the coins and keys in his pockets. Matt said what he was doing was simple -- steaks and home fries -- but it felt complex to Erik's metal-sense. Steel in the knife and spoons and mixing bowl. Cast iron in the skillets heating on the stove. Aluminum in the whisk.

Charles' hand covered his own. “Are you all right?”

Erik shrugged. All right was relative.

“How's your head?”

“Bearable.” And it was, though the low, steady ache left him feeling vaguely sick.

“I know this is hard, I really do.” Charles took Erik's hand in his own, rested them both on his insensate thigh. “And I'm certainly not the poster child for coping well, unless drugs and alcohol are considered good coping skills.”

“I don't think Hank would adapt that serum for me.” Erik laughed, wry and a little bitter. Not that he'd take it, anyway. Trading one sense for another? Not happening.

Charles chuckled. “You might be surprised. He might think you'd be less of a threat without your powers. No more dropping stadiums on us.”

“I didn't know you were there. And I apologized.”

“Not to Hank.”

“Not to Hank what?” Hank asked, startling Erik, who hadn't heard him enter The man really did move with feline stealth.

“Apologize for dropping that stadium on us,” Charles said. “He's apologized to me but not to you.”

“Not that I'd accept it even if he did apologize,” Hank muttered.

“I'm crushed,” Erik said. “Besides, to apologize, one has to actually want the person's forgiveness.”

“Gentlemen,” Charles said, “be civil.”

Hank said something under his breath at the same time Erik muttered, “Why?”

Charles squeezed his hand, a silent warning. “Hank, what did you find? Anything useful?”

Hank pulled out a chair. “I found a number of articles on cortical blindness.”

“Is there anything that can be done?” Erik demanded.

'Nothing that's likely to make a difference at this point. Surgery and steroids have some effectiveness, but it's been too long. Any damage that's going to be done has been done.”

“So that's it, then?” The words were ash in Erik's mouth. “I'll stay blind?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. As the swelling goes down, some or all of your vision may return. It's a waiting game.”

“Wait and see,” Erik said bitterly.

“In essence. The articles suggest the most likely outcome is partial recovery.”

“Partial. What does that mean?”

“Anything from as little as light and shadows to enough to function more-or-less normally.”

“How long?”

“Anywhere from a few weeks to a few months.”

Not an answer Erik wanted to hear. Weeks seemed forever. Months, impossible. But what could he do but endure?

“Dinner in five,” Matt announced, distracting Erik from his thoughts, at least for a moment.

Dinner was actually almost fun. Matt was genial and had a thousand tales of life as a lawyer in hardscrabble Hell's Kitchen, some funny, some horrifying, some both.

And the food wad excellent. Erik hadn't had much appetite since the earthquake, but the taste and smell of Matt's cooking revived it. The steak was a perfect medium rare; the home fries, buttery and crisp.

He even managed to make it through the meal without making a complete mess. Matt gave him a few pointers, like using the back of his fork as a guide when cutting his steak.

Still, by the time dinner was done, the strain of coping with his new circumstances was wearing on him. His heaf ached, and all he wanted to do was sleep for a week. But he knew Charles would cheerfully talk until two a.m. Fortunately, Matt said he needed to call it a night; he had to be in court at nine a.m.

“Do you need a ride home?” Charles asked. “Hank or I could--”

“No, that's okay. But I wouldn't turn down a ride to the train station.”

“I'll get my keys,” Hank said.

After they all said their goodbyes, Matt and Hank headed for the garage.

“Alone at last, Charles said, chuckling. Tjen he paused. “And I am an oblivious idiot. I was so wrapped up in the conversation I didn't notice you were practically broadcasting pain and exhaustion.”

Erik said nothing. He didn't need to.

“Come on, then. Let's get you to bed.”

Erik stood on surprisingly shaky legs.

“Walk toward me.”

Erik took a few cautious steps.

Charles caught his hand, guided it to the back of his chair. He led him through the twists and turns of the corridors toward the bedroom they shared. Erik couldn't help but wonder if he could learn to make this journey on his own. If he would need to.

Charles paused outside the bathroom, and Erik, remembering his advice of the night before, simply said, “Yeah,” and walked carefully through the doorway.

Charles was still in the same place when Erik returned. “The bed's straight in front of you. I'll be out in a bit.”

Erik found the bed, pushed the covers back, sank onto the mattress. He was utterly drained. He rollef on his side, closed his eyes, and eas asleep before Charles returned.


End file.
